What Friends Are For
by Silver Weasley
Summary: With one secret between all three of them, Harry knows he'd be a failure of a best mate if he didn't make Ron and Hermione admit the blatantly obvious before it's too late. [rhr, mentions of hg, oneshot]


**What Friends Are For**

_**Summary**_:

With one secret between all three of them, Harry knows he'd be a failure of a best mate if he didn't make Ron and Hermione admit the blatantly obvious before it's too late. rhr, mentions of hg, oneshot

_Disclaimer: _I love these kids, but they're not mine.

**A/N: **Yep, I am officially obsessive. xD Uh, let's say this popped into my head out of the blue and distracted me for hours until I wrote it out. I'm not sure if I got what I was trying to say across properly, but ah well. For what it's worth, I _really _like Harry in this one.

--

One of the nice things about having best mates, Harry reckoned, was that you got to talk to them about _everything_. Things he'd never told anyone before, little pieces of personal information he'd never shared…his two best friends wanted to hear about it, and in return, wanted to tell _him _things too.

Sometimes, he told them both the same things—like that his favorite color was red, or he thought this girl or that girl was especially pretty, or that with breakfast he liked hot tea with lemon (not pumpkin juice), or he'd made a rude gesture at Snape during last Defense class when the git had his back turned, or maybe that he'd once _really, really _wanted to be in a circus freak show because his damned Uncle Vernon kept telling him he was cut out for it.

Stuff like that, the good, the bad, the sad, and the downright trivial, as well as whatever evil he was currently facing—yeah, all that he could tell the both of them, and they'd listen or comfort him, or maybe tear the mickey out of him, and everything was great (or, as certain times would have it, bad). Then there was the stuff he'd only tell one of them, which was sometimes the nice thing about having two best friends with two very different personalities (and genders).

For example, Harry absolutely, positively, could _not _have a discussion with Hermione about Quidditch. For one, she didn't particularly like or understand it, and for another, it bored her rather quickly, almost immediately setting her to saying things like,

"Mm-hm," and, "Oh, yes, very nice," which always meant she had stopped paying attention to what he was saying.

Ron was just the opposite, and he was the one Harry argued plays with, asked advice from, or more often than not, simply shared a fevered love of the game with. Ron just _got _it; he understood why Quidditch was so great, and what made it that way. Hermione, for all her strong points, did not. And then, while Harry might tell Hermione he thought a girl was _pretty_, he wasn't about to talk it over with her the same way he would with Ron. It was just a bloke thing, and Hermione probably did her girly talk with her roommates, or maybe Ginny. Harry reckoned stuff like that was best kept separate.

And then of course, Ron and Harry talked about Hermione herself—why she might have done _this, _how they could achieve her level of studiousness _without_ working themselves as hard as she did, what she had meant when she had mentioned _that._ For a time, they were at an utter loss as to why suddenly, at the very beginning of fourth year, she became overly-emotional and irritable, with about the temperament and patience of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, roughly one week per month. They queried Seamus, Neville, and Dean (who were equally as clueless), Fred and George (who just laughed all-knowingly, but for once refused to be of service), and even Hermione herself, who merely glared at a curious Harry and said, "Mind your own bloody business, Harry Potter!" It was the first time either Ron or Harry had heard her swear, and of course, this only intrigued them further. It was only after Ron got the bright idea to go ask Ginny what could be ailing Hermione that they came across a very disturbing answer—something about a _monthly cycle_, which immediately caused Harry to feel very glad he was male—and now it was a subject neither of them discussed at all.

And naturally, there were things Harry discussed just with Hermione. For example, if he had a question about school, or if he needed some good, solid, reasonable advice, she would be the first he'd turn to. Hermione was the kind of person who would listen to whatever you had to say, and then offer an honest opinion, both tactfully and eagerly. She just liked to _help_, Hermione, and she was quite good at it, too. There had been many a frustrated time when Harry asked her opinion on how to handle an argument or a girl or even how to attempt to defeat a dark wizard. She was smart, and she almost always had the right idea about things.

Of course she wasn't just his tutor or psychiatrist. Hermione liked to talk to Harry about books and life, ask his opinion on all sorts of things. They talked about their respective Muggle upbringings—similarities and differences—which was something Ron attempted, but really couldn't begin, to understand. But most especially, Hermione and Harry talked about Ron.

Why would Ron say this, what could Ron mean by that, is there a way to beat him at chess—do you think Ron would want this for Christmas, why do you think Ron is so defensive about such and such…?

It went on and on.

So yes, Harry concluded happily, _telling _was really a high point about this whole best friend thing, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. They knew him too well for their own good sometimes; they had a weird sixth sense about him at times. But in all reality, he supposed, that's just what friends are for.

In turn, he knew everything about Hermione and Ron—that Hermione's favorite color was blue, and Ron liked red and (inexplicably) amber. He knew that even the faintest whiff of a green pepper made Hermione ill, that Ron couldn't stand holey socks. Hermione loved a good romance novel now and then, Ron didn't much care for The Weird Sisters, but instead preferred some sort of alternative/indie-type band called Hold Your Hippogriffs, and that Hermione would do just about anything for treacle tart.

It was a comfortable relationship that the three of them had, and Harry was used to knowing things about them and used to telling them things about him.

He noticed a slight shift in fourth year, nothing much, but enough. Ron, who had been blathering non-stop for a solid month about a nameless but beautiful sixth year Ravenclaw and how he'd kill for date with her, abruptly stopped talking about her around November. When Harry asked what had happened to Dream Girl, Ron had replied that he'd given up on her, that was all, but Harry sensed something else. Something—and yet he couldn't tell what—important.

There was more. Ron and Hermione's row after the Yule Ball, a plastic armed snapped off the model of a once beloved Quidditch hero, Ron's sidelong glances at the bookworm on his left as they did their homework at night or took notes during class. After one hotheaded outburst about Viktor Krum, Harry had told Ron, quite jokingly,

"Oh, come off it, mate. You're acting as if…as if…" He searched for the proper way to phrase it. "…well, as if you fancy _Hermione_."

Instead of the hysterical laughing fit Harry had expected, the color drained from Ron's face (and the redness started in his ears), and he had said in a whispered, choked sort of way,

"I—look, Harry, I think I could—Merlin, don't _say _things like that."

Somewhere, deep down in the pit of his stomach, Harry felt an understanding he couldn't quite begin to make sense of grow.

During fifth year, he was honestly too self-absorbed to pay his two best friends and whatever there was between them much mind, but there were times even _he _couldn't ignore it. Ron's continuing jealousy over Viktor. The way Hermione always seemed to manage to be seated either in between the two of them or next to Ron. Ron giving her perfume for Christmas; Hermione giving him a kiss on the cheek before Quidditch.

The feeling grew uncomfortably, and Harry's stomach twinged every now and again.

Then in sixth year, things in Harry's world of friends essentially imploded.

It couldn't have been more obvious that both Ron and Hermione were keeping something not only from each other, but from him. He just _knew._

"Who do you fancy, Ron?"

"Oh…no one, Harry."

"Come off it, there's loads of good-looking girls this year—have you even _looked _at Lavender Brown?"

"Er…"

And:

"Hermione, you don't happen to fancy anybody, do you?"

"Me, Harry? Oh…no."

"Still seeing Viktor?"

"I was never seeing him; you know that. It was just one date. We're friends, that's all."

It just went on and on, and nobody every told him what he was sure they all knew. And then of course he went and added to it with his new realization of Ginny Weasley and her inner and outer beauty, which he was not entirely sure Ron would appreciate as much as he did.

Blast it all though, he didn't even _have _to tell Hermione, who seemed to find him obvious and took every occasion to remind him so, tactfully waiting until Ron wasn't present.

"Oh Harry, I think it's wonderful you fancy Ginny!" she said to him out of the blue one day when Ron had gone up to bed and they were finishing homework.

"Erm," he managed, "I…"

"Don't turn so red," she said sternly. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about; it's very sweet. A pity she's dating Dean, really—but I wouldn't worry about _that _too much, I wouldn't give them too much longer. Dean is starting to get on her nerves."

"Hermione, aren't I allowed _any _secrets?" he had demanded bemusedly.

"No," she said, a bit smugly. "Though really, if you wanted to keep things private, you might do a better job of keeping your eyes to yourself. You're doing nothing short of _gaping_ at her half the time, you know."

"I can't help it," Harry had groaned, head falling to hands. "You don't understand, Hermione, it's like she's on fire or something—I can't look away. Bloody hell, I can't concentrate on _anything_ anytime I'm near her!"

"I understand," Hermione said quietly. "Just hold on, Harry. I know it's hard, I really do, but the best things—the best people—they're worth waiting for. I promise." She said this as though she was reassuring herself, and Harry again had that strange-stomach-twinging feeling.

"Hermione…I've been meaning to ask you. About Ron—"

"Well," she had cut him off abruptly, "I'm getting tired, Harry, and you look pretty sleepy yourself. Why don't we head to bed?"

He sighed wearily. Well, _he _may not be allowed secrets, but Hermione and Ron certainly were.

Everything kept getting more and more complicated. Ron was suddenly snogging Lavender and no longer speaking to Hermione. Ginny was getting lovelier. Harry was torn between his two best friends, telling them completley different things and hearing mixed lies and truths from both of them.

"Ron," he'd asked, "why did you do that? With Lavender?"

"Harry, wasn't it you who asked me if I'd looked at her? Well, guess what? I did, and you were right."

"Ron, I think Hermione—"

"We've been through this. I don't owe her _anything_."

"Ron, c'mon, can't you—"

"Look, Harry, are you my best mate or aren'tyou?"

Then, of course, there was the time he'd been studying with Hermione (what else did they do anymore?) and she'd very suddenly and very startlingly started crying over her Charms notes just because Harry had mentioned Ron without thinking.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he'd said abashedly, feeling like a git for having even forgotten for a moment. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, which seemed a sort of comforting thing to do. "Look, do you want me to talk to him or something? I hate seeing you like this."

"I—I'm f-fine, Harry," she'd managed. "I just—no, no, I'm sorry. I…miss him, sometimes, that's all."

"Hermione." Harry sighed, feeling quite sick of being both a hormonal teenager and the best friend of a pair of them. It got quite exhausting after a bit. "Can I maybe give you some advice?" She looked up at him questioningly, hiccupped once, and nodded. "Just…just _hold _on. I know it's hard, I really do, but the best people—they're worth waiting for. I promise." She'd gaped at him, at once recognizing her own words and the included implications.

"Harry, I…" She trailed off, her eyes falling. "Thank you," she finally whispered, her voice hitching. He patted Hermione on the arm again, then stood, gave her a brief smile, and exited the library, thinking that things was really getting utterly ridiculous.

And they only continued to. Even after Ron was poisoned, even _after _he and Lavender had split, even _after _Harry himself was the very happy boyfriend of one Ginerva Weasley…

Things didn't work themselves out.

Harry couldn't even get Ron to _admit _he fancied (maybe even _more _than fancied at this point, Harry thought exasperatedly) Hermione, nor could he get Hermione to vocalize things either. It bothered him to some degree—they had always been HarryRonHermione, and it felt weird to think it might soon be Harry and RonHermione. If and when they got together, for it was really only a matter of time at this point, he knew things would be different. They would want to be alone sometimes, just as he'd wanted to be alone with Ginny. They'd kiss, maybe in front of him eventually, and he wasn't sure exactly how he felt about that.

All he knew was that they were making themselves (and everybody else) completley miserable, and it was high time they at least _acknowledged _how they felt.

Harry knew there were more important things going on right now. Professor Dumbledore was dead. Harry himself had to hunt down the remaining horcruxes, and he was dragging his overly-loyal best mates along with him. People were going to die. There was going to be a _war…_Harry himself probably wouldn't live to see his eighteenth birthday.

And yet, Harry thought, why are we fighting this war anyway? Because of love, that's why. Because we love this world we live in, because we love peace and goodness, because we love each other, because we want to keep each other safe. In the same way that Harry needed to distance himself from Ginny to protect her, Ron and Hermione needed to stop denying what the whole universe at this point knew to be true and come together to keep each other safe.

Sometimes, it just works like that.

Harry sat them down the day before they left on their journey, and mentally he prepared himself. They probably weren't going to appreciate this—he knew _he _didn't find it too fun when somebody forced him into admitting things he considered personal, but times were tough and tough times call for drastic measures. And besides, what are friends for, if not to make you accept the blatantly obvious? He'd be a failure of a best mate if he left this alone any longer!

"Listen, you two," he said, "if we're really going to do this, we have to be honest with one another."

"Erm," Ron said, eyeing him curiously, "all right."

"Remember how we used to tell each other everything? There wasn't a thing about you two I didn't know, nor you with me."

"It's still like that!" Hermione assured him. "We don't have secrets, Harry—and I know how dangerous that might be now. Any one of us could be Imperiused and we'd have to be able to figure out what was going on."

"Exactly," said Harry. "But see, there _are _secrets." He eyed the pair of them pointedly. "For example, do you realize neither of you has fancied anybody for three years straight? I mean besides Lavender, Ron, because we all know she doesn't even _begin _to count." (Harry thought he saw Hermione smirk.)

"Why's that important?" Ron asked gruffly, ears suddenly red. "Fancying...that's kid stuff, right?"

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. "But what about love?"

"Erm…"

"Harry, I don't see—"

"Oh, stop it!" He glared at the pair of them. "Know what I've been noticing since we were fourteen years old, you two?"

"Harry—"

"Ron, every time Krum's name comes up, you snap. Hermione, you shot a _flock of canaries _at Ron when he snogged Lavender. _Both _of you turn red if you so much as brush hands. Ron completley zones out each time you kiss him on the cheek, Hermione. Neither of you are stupid, and _I'm _certainly not. Why don't you just admit it already, and then maybe we can all get on with our lives?"

"Oi!" Ron was suddenly on his feet, both ears and face bright red and fists clenched. "I don't see how it's your _business _to get tell Hermione and I what to do. Where do you—where do you get off? Merlin, don't _say _things like that!" Oh, how familiar.

"Like what?" Harry demanded. "True things, you mean? For the love of Merlin, of _course _it's my bloody business! _You two _are my bloody business, you're like my family, and I don't like seeing my family miserable! You know what it's like seeing you two pretend you're not bleeding in love with each other? It's like seeing you deny the fact that there's air or the fact that Ron's hair is flaming red or the fact that Hermione can recite _Hogwarts: A History _back to front, all right? And I'm sick of standing here watching it and seeing people cry or argue or hurt." He glared at them. "You know what you want? You know what you _need?_"

"What?" Hermione was standing now too, but she didn't look angry or even embarrassed. She looked a bit scared, but there was some sort of determination in her Harry hadn't ever really seen before.

"To be in love," he said simply, looking from one to the other. "Look, don't miss this, all right? I'm not going to pretend we might live nice long lives and die in our rocking chairs at age one hundred and fifty, okay? You both…you're pretty much _meant _for each other. How are you going to be happy if you're not together, eh? Tell me how—give me one blinking reason why I'm wrong—and I'll drop this whole thing here and now."

He stared defiantly at them.

They stared defiantly back.

Then, Ron turned around and looked at Hermione, arms folded across his chest.

"Reckon the prat over there is right?" he said in a very quiet sort of voice.

"You know," she said, staring intently at Ron, "I think he just might be."

"D'you—d'you reckon we might give this whole—" Ron paused to roll his eyes."—'soul mates' thing a try, then?"

Hermione took two steps forward.

"That might be…lovely."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, all right, then," Ron said brightly, smiling down at her. "I guess that settles it!"

They both turned to look at Harry expectantly.

"Oh, _that_ was romantic," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well, not like we're going to do anything in front of you," Ron countered, rolling his eyes right back. "It's a start, ok?"

Harry grinned at them.

"Yeah, it is a start. Now if I leave, will you do it properly?"

Before either of them could answer, he spun on his heel and walked out of the room. He had barely gotten two paces away from the open door when he heard Hermione say,

"Did you mean that, or were you just saying everything to make Harry shut up?" Harry, curious about this himself, stopped, and took a step back, listening closely.

"'course I didn't," Ron said in highly affronted tones. "Look, Harry was right, okay? Everything he said." A pause.

"I…I love you, Ron." A longer pause.

"I know," he answered simply. Yet _another _pause. "Oh, stop looking me like that! You know I love you too." Some minimal laughter, a few moments of silence and then: "You're beautiful, Hermione."

And then there were some noises Harry was not quite sure he wanted to listen to. He was pondering going off to find Ginny and have a talk with her, when Ron suddenly hollered,

"Are you leaving anytime soon, Potter?" which was promptly followed by,

"Really, Harry, it's not polite to _eavesdrop." _

Harry bit back a smile as he left his two best friends to their own devices.

They really _did _know him far too well.

--

**A/N: **Do review if you have a moment. It would make my day.


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